And then there was Fitzwilliam Darcy. Whether the law declared her a Darcy or a Bennet, her future was with Mr. Darcy, the man who’d captured her heart. His declaration of love beneath the harvest moon, the tender ache in her heart, and the lingering scent of his cologne on the cloak that still lay across her chair confirmed it all as blissfully real.
A soft knock interrupted her reflections. “Miss Elizabeth?” Cassie’s cheerful voice carried through the door. “Might I come in? I’ve brought your chocolate and some rather exciting news!”
“Please do,” Elizabeth called, smoothing her hair. Whatever news Cassie brought could hardly surpass the revelations of the past twenty-four hours, but she was curious nonetheless.
Cassie entered bearing a silver tray laden with chocolate, toast, and several small packages wrapped in silk. Her eyes sparkled withbarely contained excitement, and she fairly bounced on her toes as she set the tray on the bedside table.
“Oh, miss. What a night it’s been. The whole estate is buzzing with talk of your rescue and the arrest of those dreadful villains.” Cassie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Cook says Mrs. Wickham looked like a perfect harridan when they locked her in the root cellar, guarded by the officers.”
“I imagine she was rather displeased with the Midnight Unmasking,” Elizabeth observed dryly, accepting the cup of chocolate with grateful hands. “What news brings such brightness to your countenance this morning?”
“Mr. Darcy asked me to give you these,” Cassie said, indicating the silk-wrapped packages. “Birthday gifts! Your very first as Miss Elizabeth Darcy, as he put it. Though between you and me, I think the gentleman has been awake half the night arranging everything just so.”
Elizabeth’s heart performed an entirely undignified flutter at this evidence of Darcy’s thoughtfulness. She unwrapped the first package to reveal a delicate gold chain bearing a small locket—not the ornate family piece now residing in Blythewood’s custody, but simpler and more personal. Opening it, she found miniature portraits of John and Rose Darcy that had clearly been commissioned from larger paintings.
“Oh,” she breathed, her throat tightening. To have images of her parents that belonged solely to her, that bore no weight of legal evidence or inheritance disputes—it was a gift beyond price.
The second package contained a leather-bound journal. A note in Darcy’s precise handwriting lay tucked within the cover:For recording your thoughts as Elizabeth Rose Darcy—though I confess myself equally interested in your observations as the future Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Elizabeth laughed despite the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Even in private correspondence, the man managed to be both romantic and presumptuous in the same breath. It was one ofhis more endearing qualities, though she would never tell him so directly.
“There’s more, miss,” Cassie said softly, producing a final package. “This one was recovered from Rose Cottage after the… excitement.”
Elizabeth’s hands trembled slightly as she unwrapped what proved to be a worn journal bound in faded blue leather. The cover bore the initials R.B.D. in delicate gold script, and the pages within were covered with her mother’s graceful handwriting.
“Rose’s diary,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the tangible connection to the woman who had given her life. “She kept a journal.”
“Mr. Darcy thought you should have it,” Cassie said gently. “Something of hers that was meant for you… mother to daughter. Mr. Darcy found it behind a loose brick. He said he noticed it when he spied on you that morning.”
Elizabeth clutched the journal to her chest, appreciating the full scope of Darcy’s gift. Not just her parents’ images or a place to record her own thoughts, but her mother’s actual words—the closest thing to a conversation they would ever share.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Cassie’s voice held a note of concern. “Are you quite well? Should I fetch Mr. Darcy?”
“I am perfectly well,” Elizabeth assured her, wiping away tears with one hand while maintaining her grip on the journal with the other. “Indeed, I believe this may be the first morning in my life when I have awakened knowing exactly who I am and where I belong.”
“And where might that be, miss?” Cassie asked with an innocent expression that fooled no one.
“Why, at Pemberley, of course,” Elizabeth replied with mock surprise. “As the future Mrs. Darcy, assuming the gentleman doesn’t develop second thoughts about proposing to a woman who attracts kidnappers and murderers with alarming regularity.”
Cassie giggled. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that, miss.The way he looked at you when he carried you in last night—well, I’ve never seen a gentleman so determined to keep hold of something precious.”
A warmth spread through Elizabeth’s chest. To be considered precious by a man like Darcy was too wonderful to credit, yet the evidence of his regard surrounded her in the form of thoughtful gifts and careful attention to her comfort.
“Now then,” she said, setting aside the journals and reaching for her wrapper, “I believe there are magistrates to face and mysteries to resolve. One cannot spend one’s twenty-first birthday languishing in bed, no matter how comfortable said bed might be.”
“We’d better put on Georgiana’s best baby-blue morning gown, the one with the ivory trim,” Cassie said. “Mr. Darcy wishes to speak with you privately before the magistrate arrives. Something about making certain declarations official and legal-like.”
Elizabeth’s fluttering heart took leaps and bounds. Was Mr. Darcy planning on announcing their engagement or posting banns immediately?
Cassie helped her wash and dress. She fixed Elizabeth’s hair, taking extra care to pin the curls.
“There now, miss,” Cassie said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Every inch the lady of the manor, if I may say so. Mr. Darcy will be quite overcome.”
Elizabeth examined her reflection in the looking glass, noting how the morning light caught the gold flecks in her dark eyes—her mother’s eyes, she now knew. The woman gazing back at her bore the Bennet confidence and wit that had sustained her through twenty years of provincial life, tempered by a new understanding of her true heritage and brightened by the promise of love finally acknowledged.
“I believe I am ready,” she said, clasping the new locket around her neck where it settled naturally above her heart. “Whatever revelations await, I shall face them as myself—Elizabeth Bennet whobecame Elizabeth Darcy, but who remains, at heart, simply Elizabeth.”
“And a fine Elizabeth you are, miss,” Cassie said warmly. “Now go collect your gentleman and show those magistrates what a proper Pemberley mistress looks like.”
